


Husband.

by Rebel_Captain



Series: And it feels like home. [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), a game of thrones - Fandom, game of thrones
Genre: AU where Robb marries Roslin Frey right after his mother negotiates the terms, Arranged Marriage, Cat tries her best, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Robb deserved a better story and god I hope I give it to him, but they're married, married for a bridge, the au no one is asking for yet I am writing anyway, underage because they're both like.......... 17?, vague writing in regards to smut because I'm not actually writing it hahaaaaaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebel_Captain/pseuds/Rebel_Captain
Summary: Robb Stark marries Roslin Frey the night House Frey pledges their allegiance. "So that he doesn't marry some other lady," Lord Frey had said, according to his mother. But he suspects the man used much cruder words.He marries the Frey girl that night, and he does not quite know how to feel about his Frey wife.Season 1 AU





	Husband.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my 2nd GOT fic. This series will be a collection of works involving the developing relationship of Robb and Roslin. Yes the name of the series might be inspired by "Like a Prayer" by Madonna. Whoops, but not really.

His mother informs him that he is to be married that night. There will be no fancy feast, no formal clothes. His soon to be wife will not even have a proper bridal gown. He does not have a Stark cloak to cover her with, but his mother said one of his nicest cloaks would work just fine. She sews a direwolf onto the back with some leftover fabric. He's never been more thankful for his mother.

He vented his frustrations about the situation to Theon, who, while understanding the importance of duty, joked that Robb would at least get a bedding. 

That made him flush and punch his best friend's arm, already feeling some urge to protect his future wife. _Family, duty, honour._ His mother's house's words had never seemed so fitting. 

Robb will try to be a good husband, to honour and love his wife. But he can't help but feel panic over the situation. He knows nothing about the Frey girl, just that her name is Roslin, and she's his age. His mother insisted that she was lovely, a little quiet if nothing else. He'll judge that for himself.

He doesn't mind a Faith of the Seven wedding, even insists upon it. Roslin follows the new gods, and Robb was brought up in an inter-faith household, so, truly, he doesn't mind. Roslin would be more comfortable with a Faith of the Seven wedding, he's sure. So that's what he decides upon, even though the northern lords grumble about it. Perhaps, once the war is won, they'll have a northern wedding? Only time will tell, he figures.

* * *

Roslin Frey is tiny. It's the first thing Robb notices as he stands at the alter.

She comes up to just above her father's shoulder, and is perhaps even skinnier than Arya had been. Malnourished, he realizes quickly. A lot of the younger looking girls at the Twins had the same body as his soon to be wife. He decides he'll make sure his wife eats at every meal, that she never goes hungry.

She wears a pale cream dress with silver embroidery. It's a little short on the sleeves, and he can see her shoes peaking out from under the hem of her dress. He guesses she hasn't had to wear this dress for a long time. It's probably the nicest one she owns, hence why she is wearing it on her wedding day. He feels bad for the wife who never got to make her gown or her cloak. The cloak seems borrowed, a little old, but nice enough, he supposes.

She comes to a stop before him, large brown eyes peering up at him through thick lashes. She's pretty, he isn't blind to that. With her pale skin, doe like eyes, petite features and long shining brown hair. She reaches a little below his shoulders, and he understands what his mother had meant by 'having a few concerns' about whether or not Roslin would be healthy enough for children.

Just the thought makes his cheeks go a faint pink. If Roslin notices, she doesn't say a thing. 

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." the septon tells him, and Robb reaches out, unclasping the Frey cloak from her shoulders. He hands it to a woman- one of her half sisters? He takes his cloak from his shoulders, wrapping it around her. It looks ridiculously large on her, but he silently finds it endearing. He hopes he'll be a good husband. One of Roslin's hands grips the hem of the large cloak, as if she silently finds comfort in it. 

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Robb holds out his hand, and tentatively, Roslin takes his hand in his. Her hand is soft and small, his is large and full of callouses from years of sword fighting. He likes her hands.

The septon begins wrapping a ribbon around their hands, metaphorically tying the knot between them. _And literally_ , Robb thinks as he stares upon the ribbon binding his and Roslin's hands. "Let it be known that Robb of House Stark and Roslin of House Frey are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." the septon looks between them, at their young faces. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

The septon unties the ribbon from their hands, but neither let go of the other's hand. "Look upon each other and say the words." the septon commands them, and Robb turns to face his wife... well, more look down at her. _Gods, she is tiny._

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger." the pair repeat at the same time. Roslin has a soft spoken voice, befitting of her gentle exterior. 

"I am hers. She is mine."

"I am his. He is mine."

"From this day, until the end of my days." they finish, and Roslin gives him a faint smile. He mirrors it as best as he can. _I can't believe I'm getting married for a bridge... but none of this will matter once Father, Sansa and Arya are back._

Oh... it's him next, he quickly remembers, as her brows raise a little. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. He leans down, softly pressing his lips to hers. She kisses back, her lips are soft. Everything about her is soft and gentle. 

He feels like he could break her at any moment. 

The pair turn to face their audience, who clap and cheer for their new Lord and Lady Stark. 

He hopes to be as good of a husband as his father was.

* * *

The feast is simple. They do not have a pigeon pie, but a venison one, prepared earlier that day. Roslin smiles and chats to their guests, and Robb is glad she isn't upset or anything of the sort. He doesn't pay much attention to the feast, too busy studying his wife to notice what he's even eating.

Halfway through dinner, she turns to look at him, cheeks pink, but a playful look in her eyes. "You're allowed to speak to me, my lord." she informed him, taking a bite of some potatoes.

"It's Robb to you, my lady." he tells her, a smile on his lips. He doesn't want his wife to call him by anything but his name.

"And it's Roslin to you, _Robb._ " 

Something flutters in his chest, and he grins at her, receiving a grin back from her. She has a little gap between her two largest upper teeth, it's endearing. 

Gods, let him be a good husband. 

* * *

"Let them be bedded!" a man shouts over the music, cheers following his shouts. Robb looks up in surprise, having been halfway through talking to Roslin about music. She was very fond of it, played the harp and sang. He wished to hear her sing some day, she'd giggled and told him she would, if he asked. He was glad things were going relatively well.

"Wait-" he starts, watching his wife get picked up out of her chair by one of his bannermen, her cheeks a bright scarlet. It's not long before he's pulled from his chair by a Frey girl, and they're pulling at his clothes. His eyes search for his mother's and when he meets them, she simply gives him a gentle smile. She hadn't had a bedding ceremony, his father had refused it, lest he break a man's jaw on their wedding night. 

Robb could see what he meant, as it felt bizarre seeing other men undress his wife. He wanted to be the only one to do that, to carefully undress her and touch her. But he watched as they undid the laces of her dress, pulling it off her and flinging it into the crowd. She was left in her under clothes. She had freckled shoulders.

Robb simply went along with it, though he vowed if any of them touched her inappropriately, then maybe he'd break a man's jaw or two. He stumbled a little when his shirt was pulled over his head, his breeches getting torn off his legs. He is only left in his braies, and he flushes a dark red, keeping his eyes on Roslin as she is dropped off into their room. 

He is shoved in with a laugh from one of Roslin's sisters, the door shut and locked behind them. Roslin is sat on the bed, staring at the fire. When she notices him, she swallows, shaking hands reaching up to undo the ribbon holding her shift together.

"We don't have to do anything." he blurts out, watching her hands still and her head turn so she could look at him. She's surprised, and it shows. "I mean... Roslin I would never do anything if you didn't want-"

"I know," she says, resting her hands on her lap. "I've only known you for a few hours, but I know, Robb." she reassures him, standing up. "But it... well, it's our duty, is it not?" she asked, her odd way of asking him if _he'd_ like to. 

"It is." his throat is oddly dry as he looks at her. _His wife_. "None of them mistreated you, did they? No one... no one touched your..." he struggles to find the words, and she almost laughs.

"My 'lady parts'?" she asks, and he grimaces at how childish it sounds, which does make her snort. "No. No one touched down there. One did touch my breasts, but your friend, Theon, swatted them away." she informed him, and he arches a brow.

He's surprised, but glad. Theon was known for frequenting whore houses, flirting with women... the lot. But he's glad Theon knows him well enough to know he wouldn't appreciate anyone touching his wife in such a way. 

"Good," he manages to say a moment later, taking a step closer to her. "I want to be the only one to touch you like that, Roslin Stark." it's bold of him to say, and he's nervous. Nervous that she'll rebuff him, or laugh in his face, or-

"Thank the gods," she instead murmurs, walking until she's right in front of him. "Because you're the only one I want to touch me _like that_ , Robb Stark." she smiles, and he smiles back. She leans up, he leans down.

Their lips collide gently, and Robb is quite happy for gentle kisses and his hands not touching her at the moment. But Roslin isn't. She grabs his hands and settles them on her waist, and she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He'll let her lead. He kisses her a little harder, pulling her closer with one of his hands. She's warm beneath the touch, and the knowledge only spurs his thoughts of picking her up, laying her on the bed and making her scream his name. But he doesn't. 

"Robb-" she breathes against his lips, pulling away for a moment to catch her breath, bracing her hands against his chest. "Bed." she whispers, looking up at him, eyes dark with lust.

He nods, lightly trailing his hands down her side, over her rear to settle at her thighs. He picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist and his hands holding her secure under her thighs. He kisses her again, harder than before. In the back of his mind, a voice that sounds like Theon jokes about the wolf in him coming out to play. He pushes her up against the bedpost, her hands tangling in his hair and his lips trailing hot open mouthed kisses to her shoulder. Her moans and whispers of his name only spur him on, and when he stumbles across a sweet spot on her neck that makes her moan even louder than before, he pays most of his attention to it, fascinated by her sounds.

"Robb... Robb..." she breathes, voice breathy and cracking every so often. He's glad he can make her feel good. He trails his lips back up to her mouth, and they descend into messy kisses. It's hard and passionate, and he loves it. 

"Tell me what you want." he whispers, his voice thick with emotion- lust- and his eyes trained on her face. He can't look at anything but her.

"You." she says, her hands still in his hair. "Gods, I want you so badly." she mumbled, nothing but pure desire on her face. Has a wedding night ever gone so well? Because Robb certainly feels like his is one of the better ones.

"What do you want me to _do_ , Roslin?" he asks, lips against her throat once more. 

Most women would say something flowery, he supposes, would wax poetic about love and the bond between man and wife. But this is not love, no. They have only known each other a day, so-

"Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, Robb." she mutters, not at all hiding the true meaning behind pretty words. And she is... was a Frey, Robb supposes that she's used to such crass things being said around her on a daily basis. 

So he does.

* * *

He rolls off of her minutes later, panting and sweaty and feeling _fantastic_. He suddenly understood what Theon meant about the first time being with a woman. It _was_ like nothing else. 

Roslin closes her legs, her eyes wide and breath coming out in little pants. She shifts onto her side to look at him. "Was that... good?" she asked, because it was damn well good for her, so-

"Good?" he asked, looking at her with incredulous eyes. "Roslin, that was..." he can't quite express his thoughts, so he gently grabs her face and brings her lips to his. He spends the next few minutes quite contentedly kissing her, though one thought suddenly occurs to him. "Was it good for you?" he asks, pure nerves on his face.

"Not at first." she tells him honestly, and he's glad for that. "It stung and it hurt when you moved. But the pain will get better, I've heard. And towards the end you made me..." her cheeks darken, and he grins wolfishly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Oh, I'm well aware." he all but purrs, and she snorts, lightly swatting his chest.

They lay in silence for a while. Roslin curled up beside Robb and one of his arms behind her head, the other draped over her waist. He's content, he's happy. And he thinks this marriage may just work.

"I hope we'll be good friends." Roslin says, and he looks at her, before nodding. 

"Aye, I hope that too." he agrees, pressing another kiss to her forehead. He does not love his wife, as love does not happen within hours of knowing a person, and having sex with them. If that were the case, men would fall for whores all the time. Roslin was of course no whore, but the comparison of not loving someone you'd just met stood all the same, he supposes. He is certainly growing fond of her, and so far he enjoys her company, but he does not love her. Lust, perhaps. But that's more understandable, he supposes. 

Still, some day, he hopes he can love his wife.


End file.
